c49: Blood and Fire
Shouts of battle erupted outside,
echoing through the ancient stone halls of Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen.
The steady footsteps of armored men rang clearly in the corridor.
Flames flickered along the dragon-claw torches lining the walls, their light dancing across the carved black stone. Viserys walked among them, listening to the approaching clamor, a chill creeping into his heart.
He was not as calm as he appeared,
despite the composed expression he forced upon his face.
He had initially believed this rebellion to be nothing more than a minor farce orchestrated by Sir Shad and a handful of disloyal soldiers, something that could be easily suppressed.
However, Viserys had not expected it to spread so far. It now seemed there were far more soldiers within Dragonstone harboring rebellious intentions than he had ever imagined.
He and his mother had always lived in danger,
ever since the fall of Aerys II Targaryen during Robert's Rebellion.
Countless eyes had followed them, filled with greed and malice,
a mother and son forced into hiding while enemies sought the price on their heads. Those around them wanted to kill them for the bounty promised by the new regime.
Even now, the thought sent a chill down Viserys's spine,
and his heart began to pound once more beneath his armor.
Yes...
House Targaryen had fallen, and now Robert Baratheon sat upon the Iron Throne in King's Landing.
What reason did he have to believe these guards would remain loyal to the Targaryens without the slightest wavering?
Thinking of this,
Viserys' grip on his crossbow tightened slightly, the polished wood creaking faintly beneath his fingers.
But thankfully, this would be the end of it.
"These hidden traitors will all be lured out and then wiped out completely."
The silver-haired boy exhaled a soft breath,
then realized that his palms, gripping the crossbow, were damp with sweat.
He was not as calm as he appeared; fear still lingered within him, fear of accidents, fear of death, yet he was far better than before, when he could not even mask it.
Now, at the very least, he could wear the mask of a king.
Two guards escorted Viserys through the winding corridors of the Stone Drum Tower,
their footsteps measured and deliberate.
They climbed the narrow stone steps leading to the top floor of the main castle, toward the Hall of Maps, a chamber that displayed the painted table and charts of all Westeros, much like those later used by Stannis Baratheon.
"Your Majesty."
"Your Majesty."
The two guards stationed at the entrance to the Hall of Maps straightened as they saw Viserys approach.
Clad in full armor, they bowed slightly, one fist pressed firmly against their chests in a gesture of loyalty.
Viserys said nothing,
only giving a slight nod to the guards who had remained loyal to House Targaryen through its darkest hour.
The two guards then stepped forward and pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the Hall of Charts for him.
Creak…
The two fleet soldiers and Viserys entered the Hall of Charts,
their boots echoing softly across the stone floor.
Click, the door was immediately bolted from the inside, and nearby cabinets were overturned and reinforced with heavy objects, forming a barricade to prevent any unexpected traitors from forcing their way in.
After entering the Hall of Charts, Viserys walked directly toward the central seat,
the very place where his mother, Queen Rhaella, had once presided over what remained of their fractured court.
Long before that, Aegon I Targaryen and his sisters Visenya Targaryen and Rhaenys Targaryen had sat here,
their three-headed dragon banner symbolizing their dominion over Westeros.
Now,
the one who occupied that seat was Viserys.
He... King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm... a long list of titles, all now resting upon the shoulders of Viserys Targaryen, the Third of his Name.
The silver-haired boy sat upon the heavy chair,
yet felt no coldness or hardness beneath him, only the weight of a fallen dynasty and the fragile hope of its restoration.
Outside, the echoes of battle continued, but within the chamber, Viserys sat still,
like a young dragon waiting for the moment to unleash fire and blood.
Because the previous occupant, Queen Lyra, was with child and could not endure the chill of cold stone as was often described of the harsh seats in castles like Dragonstone,
she could not sit upon a cold surface, so the heavy chair had been layered with luxurious, soft animal furs, much like the comforts afforded to noblewomen of high birth in the Seven Kingdoms.
Viserys rested his hands upon the armrests of the main seat, looking down at the enormous painted table below, carved in intricate detail with the map of Westeros, a design reminiscent of the legendary war table used by Stannis Baratheon.
The table stretched over fifty feet in length,
its widest expanse nearly half its total length, while its narrowest sections tapered to less than four feet.
The main seat upon which Viserys now sat corresponded precisely to Dragonstone's position upon the map, anchoring his place at the edge of Blackwater Bay.
Nearly three hundred years ago, the craftsmen and planners under Aegon I Targaryen had meticulously designed this chamber,
ensuring that the ruler seated here could command a sweeping, uninterrupted view of the entire continent.
King's Landing, Harrenhal, Storm's End, The Eyrie, Casterly Rock...
Viserys' gaze began at Dragonstone and drifted slowly across these great strongholds of Westeros,
his mind recalling the lessons drilled into him by the old maester, who had once insisted he study every detail of the Conquest.
He had thoroughly memorized the campaigns that forged the Seven Kingdoms into one realm under Targaryen rule.
These were the very paths Aegon the Conqueror had taken during his wars of conquest,
routes marked not only by strategy but by dragonfire and submission.
At the Field of Fire, three dragons descended upon the battlefield together, their flames engulfing the plains and turning the tide of war in an instant.
The fire sent warhorses into panic,
and the choking smoke blinded entire ranks of soldiers, rendering formation and command impossible.
This battle directly led to the crushing defeat of the allied forces of King Loren Lannister of the Rock and King Mern Gardener IX of the Reach, whose combined host had numbered nearly fifty-five thousand men.
As Viserys immersed himself in these memories of history,
he almost seemed to witness the devastation firsthand, as though standing amidst the flames and ash of conquest.
For a fleeting moment, the boy felt as if he were not merely recalling history, but reliving it.
Then,
the sudden uproar outside the Hall of the Painted Table shattered his thoughts.
"Slay the bastard of the dragon!"
"Slay the son of the Mad King!"
The heavy wooden doors of the hall were barricaded with overturned cabinets and reinforced with weighty objects,
yet the chaos outside seemed perilously close, as though the battle pressed directly against the chamber itself.
Clang, clang, clang—
The sharp clash of steel rang through the air,
accompanied by battle cries, the sickening sound of blades cutting through flesh, and the agonized screams of wounded men.
It seemed the last loyal guards stationed outside the hall had already engaged the advancing rebels.
Bang!
A heavy impact struck against the door, as if a soldier had been thrown violently against it in the struggle.
The thick wooden doors trembled under the force, yet held firm, the barricade behind them preventing a breach—for now.
Viserys was jolted fully awake,
his senses snapping back from the haze of memory to the brutal reality surrounding him.
Silver-gold hair fell across the boy's pale face, one elbow resting upon the armrest, his hand supporting his cheek as he tilted his head slightly upward.
The sounds of battle raging just beyond the door sent a visible tremor through him,
his face paling as the illusion of calm finally cracked.
His pale violet eyes, a mark of his Valyrian blood, revealed the fear he could no longer fully conceal.
The boy closed his eyes for a brief moment,
drawing in a slow, steady breath before opening them once more.
"The enemy... has reached the door."
"Gentlemen,"
Viserys spoke, remaining seated upon the throne as he straightened his slender frame, forcing strength into his posture.
He intended to say something to steady the resolve of those who still stood with him.
Now, Viserys found himself cornered,
with no avenue of retreat remaining.
Behind the main seat lay a vast rooftop overlooking the sea far below, a sheer drop from Dragonstone's towering heights that would mean certain death to anyone who leapt.
The boy's voice, though carefully controlled, still carried a faint tremor,
betraying the fear he fought to suppress.
He raised his crossbow, already loaded, and aimed it directly toward the entrance.
If the enemy broke through,
he had already resolved that the first man to step into the chamber would fall by his hand.
"We swear to defend His Majesty to the death!"
The two loyal Targaryen soldiers drew their longswords in unison,
striking them against their shields with a resounding clang as they took their positions on either side of the throne.
They swore that any traitor seeking the young king's life would have to step over their corpses first.
...
Pls Buy my collection and subscribe
Help motivate me
30+ advanced chapter on patreon....Visit patreon now to read my exclusive content... posting 5 chapters per day, Our collection is now available on PATREON
visit patreon.com/Elberto to view 30+ advanced chapters
Please subscribe guys